


Books or The Art of Protecting Crowley

by Pyracantha



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 500 words or less is HARD, Creepy, GO Name That Author, I read a LOT of horror as a youngster, I'm not sure what happened here, It was a formative experience, M/M, Possession, Somebody Needs That Book, Wordcount: 100-500
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23823229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyracantha/pseuds/Pyracantha
Summary: It's six weeks after the NOT end of the world. Aziraphale brings Crowley a book. He needs help with it but boy did he underestimate how much help he might actually need.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 30
Collections: Name That Author Round One





	Books or The Art of Protecting Crowley

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Supernatural possession very not consensual. Some imagery might be upsetting re: the possession. Hugs and keep yourselves safe! So this is definitely scary and not my usual AO3 fare. 
> 
> See end notes for more info!

Aziraphale looks nervously down at the book he is holding as he approaches Crowley’s door. He takes a deep breath and knocks before he enters.

He can feel that Crowley is here somewhere but the flat’s energy is off, as if everything has been moved two feet to the left. It feels like something, or someone, wants him to be very scared. Aziraphale will be damned if he’ll let it. He gives himself a little shake.

“Crowley?” he calls out, as he enters the flat.

It’s dark and the room swallows up his voice almost as soon as it leaves his lips. Aziraphale tries to quell the thread of unease working it’s way into the pit of his stomach.

“Crowley? I need your help with something important,” he calls again as he moves further down the hall.

He tries to keep his voice level and impassive. He still hears no reply and the oppressive feeling of the flat intensifies. It almost feels physical, a weight bearing down on him, making it hard to breathe. As he rounds the corner to the living room expecting, well he has no idea what, he sees nothing amiss. Everything pristine and clear, "minimalist" Crowley calls it.

He lets out a breath he doesn’t need and hadn’t realized he was holding. Aziraphale carefully sets the book down on the sofa. As far from the edge as it can go. He eyes it warily before turning to check the rest of the apartment. The kitchen is empty, everything in order, even the kettle that has newly appeared just for Aziraphale. He moves on. The plant room, humid and green but no one is there.

He finally finds something in the office. That ridiculous throne chair pushed far back from the desk, as if in haste. There is a letter on the desk, dense with writing. It’s in a hand he doesn’t recognize, jagged and bold. Some words almost ripped through the paper as if the writer used great force on the pen. As he starts to read it Aziraphale’s face contorts in horror. He backs slowly away from the desk and turns towards the bedroom.

His steps are now hesitant and he clasps his hands together to stop their shaking. As he reaches the doorway he can just see Crowley suspended in the air, his body stiff and arms flung wide. Suddenly the head turns, his face a smiling rictus. Aziraphale can see, as he looks into the eyes, his friend terrified and helpless. His eyes bulge, as if somehow Crowley is trying to escape through them.

A voice as deep as the earth, as brutal as hell itself speaks through Crowley’s beautiful mouth.

“AH AZIRAPHALE. DID YOU BRING MY BOOK?”

**Author's Note:**

> So this ficlet garnered a lot of "WHAT HAPPENS NEXT OMG?" all caps texting at me from the folks on the discord (I love you guys!) so I will probably be writing at least "some" more on what happens here. Maybe 500 more, or maybe several chapters. I really loved thinking in this box. Trust me though if it gets expanded, no matter the length, it will always ALWAYS have a happy ending from me.


End file.
